


Ride Home

by ephemeralexistence



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, PopStar!Betty, photographer!jughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralexistence/pseuds/ephemeralexistence
Summary: “I wish we could just go. Just… hop on a motorcycle and leave Riverdale… go to a place where there’s no crazy moms, or drunken dads…”“Like Romeo and Juliet but we live happily ever after instead.”Or, AU. Where Betty and Jughead made it out of their childhood hometown and made it big in the outside world. Only there’s no motorcycle involved, and certainly not with one another.Or, a world where Betty is a popular Hollywood singer who secretly hates her glamorous but insular celebrity life, so she sets out to find an ex-boyfriend in an attempt to feel genuine connection again. And Jughead is a professional photographer who is incapable of getting over an ex-girlfriend.





	1. Betty Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first attempt at writing a multi-chaptered story. Please support me on this! Haha. Many thanks to @/beanie-betty and @/theatreofexpression for being wonderful betas!

Betty Cooper rolls her eyes and groans audibly upon seeing the music producer signal her to stop singing – for the hundredth time since this morning. 

They are at a fancy recording studio in Los Angeles, one of those studios that scare off any fledgling singer that attempts a career in the music industry. It is equipped with the most modern, state-of-the-art facilities worthy of a popular Hollywood star – like her, for example. 

They have been trying to record a new track that will be included on her second album, which, to Betty’s frustration, is perpetually in the works. They have been at it for most of the day, and she can sense that everyone in the recording studio is at various levels of exasperation and annoyance. 

Because she just can’t get it right.

It is the sixth day of recording for the track, and today is supposedly allotted for vocals – meaning, it is her turn to fill in her part of the song. (She had heard the melody and arrangement the day before, and consequently formed a favorable opinion on it.) All she has to do now is to perfect the vocals, but she has been royally messing up for the past eight hours. 

Which is a rare occurrence, because Betty Cooper never flops at anything she tries to do. 

She takes a few deliberate breaths to calm her nerves, willing down the increasing discomfort she feels in the pit of her stomach that is slowly rising up her throat. Her fingers curl automatically, nails lightly grazing against the palm of her hands. But instead of pushing too hard until she breaks skin, she rubs the slight irregularities on her palms, reminding herself that she can do this. 

She closes her eyes and makes a mental countdown, until she feels her breathing return to a normal rate. 

“I’m so sorry. Can I do it one more time?” Betty asks the recording team huddled in the control room on the other side of the glass panel.

“That’s okay, Betty. I think it’s time for a break,” Kevin, the music producer, tells her through the external communicating device. “We’re starving anyway,” he mouths, as he pats his stomach. Betty herself feels her stomach grumble and protest at the extended lack of sustenance. 

She removes the headset she’s wearing as she surveys the room. Kevin Keller, said music producer (and also her best friend) seems to be the only friendly face remaining; but she spots the subtle hesitation in the smile he gives her, and Betty realizes just how miserably she is failing. Paul DeSantos, the composer and arranger of the song, is currently massaging his temples. Laura Lim, the head engineer of the studio, is visibly letting out a heavy sigh as she removes her set of headphones. 

Kevin opens the door to the live room where she’s recording, pokes his head inside, and says, “Wanna join me for late lunch?” 

She gives him an apologetic smile and nods. “Okay.” She looks back at everyone else in the studio, but they are already scuffling towards the exit. Kevin shouts at them to be back in the studio after a 2-hour break.

Betty drags her feet through the threshold towards the control room and finds the nearest couch to collapse into. She slouches on the couch and lets out a sigh of defeat before burying her face in her hands. She refuses to look at Kevin as she mutters, “I’m sorry I’m such a failure, Kev.”

The couch shifts due to an added weight, and she hears him reply, “Nah. Don’t worry about it, Betty. We all have our bad days, today’s just not your day, s’all.” 

She scoffs, feeling the knot in her stomach coil. “I don’t know, Kev. I just haven’t been feeling like myself for the longest time. You know? This doesn’t feel like my usual run-of-the-mill depression.”

Kevin’s eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?” 

She shrugs before she answers. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right anymore.” Kevin gives her a look, prodding her to elaborate, so she adds, “Every day I get up, drag myself to whatever commitment I have for the day, but inside, I just don’t feel like doing any of it.” 

A considerable pause passes between them. 

Kevin has been her best friend (her only _trusted_ friend, really) in the music business. He is one of those stylish and less intimidating young overachievers of the corporate music world. They’ve been each other’s confidants since that day he found her loitering around a management company five years ago. At that time, she had been crying incessantly after an especially big fight with her mother. 

“Is Alice giving you a hard time again?” Kevin prods, referring to Betty’s mother (who also stands as her manager). Concern laces his voice, and his frown gets deeper as he scrutinizes her face. 

Betty doesn’t answer; instead, she scans the interior of the recording studio. Countless songs that managed to land on the Billboard Charts were recorded in the same room. _She_ has recorded some of her well-received older songs in this room. But right now, strangely, the place is making her uncomfortable, like it is some sort of entrapment, and she is having a hard time escaping. 

She inhales deeply, shaking her head as if by doing so, she could expel the thought from her mind. 

Betty snaps out of her reverie when she feels a slight shake of her shoulder. She turns and sees Kevin waving a hand in her face. “Hello? Earth to Betty! Have you heard a word I said?” he says, brows raised. 

“What?” 

“I said, let’s go eat. I’m star—“ he pauses abruptly as he scans her face. “Hey, c’mere.” He must have found something in her expression, because Betty finds herself being pulled to his chest in an embrace. 

She closes her eyes, and allows her friend to provide her some semblance of comfort that she apparently craves. 

“Let’s just call it a day for now,” Kevin mumbles. “I’ll text everyone to come back tomorrow. Take off some of the edge. For now, first order of business is to fill our stomachs, because I am legitimately famished, lady! C’mon,” he says with a final tap on her back. 

.  
.  
.

Half an hour later, they are walking into a hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurant, a little off the busier streets of Los Angeles. Kevin is craving sushi, so sushi is what they’re getting. Besides, it’s a relatively unknown and hidden place, so the chance of running into paparazzi is low. They go straight to a table at an alcove away from the rest of the restaurant, ideal to get a little privacy. 

“Have you heard the latest gossip in town?” Kevin exclaims as soon as they are seated, his eyes growing wide as he covers his mouth in exaggeration. 

Betty can’t help rolling her eyes, but she indulges her friend nonetheless. It is his favorite past time, it seems - to gather all the juiciest gossip in Hollywood, and relay it to her in an embellished manner. She hasn’t paused to contemplate the truthfulness of each one. She never believes any of it from the baseline (unless it comes with evidence). She just wants to humor Kevin as he talks animatedly. 

She knows from first hand experience that the stories these tabloids churn out are a tangent to reality, and one can never trust any of them. They just publish whatever they deem will generate millions of hits on the internet, or whatever will sell more copies of tabloid magazines. It’s all just for profit in the end, like any other thing in their line of work.

But listening to Kevin talk is a distraction from her thoughts, so she tries to listen anyway. 

“Well, your ex-boyfriend—” he draws quotation marks in the air as he drawls, “—Archie Andrews is now off the market after staying single from your alleged break-up years ago.” He finishes with a smirk. 

“Really?” Betty replies, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yup, and I heard he’s dating a filthy rich brunette who hails from NYC. I heard she’s a fashion designer.” 

“Kev, that’s like a story of the olden times. The brunette has a name, and it’s Veronica Lodge.” 

“My, my…what is this? Betty Cooper caving in to rumors?”

She laughs as she shakes her head. “Of course not. I just know for a fact that Archie and Veronica have been in a long-term relationship. They were even dating during that brief period that Archie and I were supposedly dating,” Betty explains. 

Kevin widens his eyes, wordlessly asking her to elaborate, so she adds, “Well, you know how our brief, but immensely popular relationship was staged, right?” He nods before Betty furthers, “Archie was already in a long-term relationship with Veronica at the time; high school sweethearts. As far as I can remember, Archie told her about the whole set-up, and Veronica was very gracious and understanding about it.” 

Betty’s chest tightens as she remembers her own relationship at the time - only hers did not turn the brighter way like Archie’s did. She welcomes the familiar feeling, an intense regret and remorse whenever she’s reminded of _him_. These days, the feeling comes to her more often than it used to.

“You know, you never really told me about that part of your story. But I remember, the first time that we met, you looked almost suicidal. Wasn’t that the time that you signed that contract? I think I have a memory of you telling me that. But I never learned why it was so devastating to you,” Kevin says, his hands meeting on the table. 

“That’s a story for another time,” Betty finishes with a mysterious smile. She pretends to be busy with an elaborate place mat that a young waitress lays on their table after taking their orders. Betty mouths her thanks to her before she turns her back and leaves them alone again.

“You always say that. It’s almost unfair! You know the details about every romantic excursion I have had for the past five years, and I haven’t heard any of yours!” Kevin protests, a frown beginning to crease on his forehead.

Betty laughs, increasingly amused by this sudden interest in her love life. “Well, for one, my dear Kevin, there’s nothing to tell. My love life is as dry as the Sahara desert.”

“Why does it have to be so though? I mean, girl, in case you forgot, you are Betty Cooper - one of the most popular, sought after performers of Hollywood today!” he says, incredulity evident in his tone. 

“Maybe I’m saving myself for my Romeo,” she replies lightly.

“What? Betty—it’s the twenty-first century! Not the Victorian era. You’re allowed to date!”

“Exactly, it’s the twenty-first century. A woman can have the liberty to stay single, just as she has the liberty to date in whatever way. I just happen to choose the former! I like being single, anyway.” 

“Gosh, Betty, you’re making me worry endlessly. One of these days, I’ll get in the serious business of looking for this particular Romeo, whoever he is. He might be able to make you happy.” 

Betty doesn’t reply, instead she gives him another one of her mysterious smiles. 

What he doesn’t know is that Betty has already been on it— she has started on the search for her particular Romeo. One tall, dark, and brooding Romeo of her distant past. 

Kevin starts browsing on his cellphone while they wait for their food to arrive. He makes an annoying sort of sound, something between a squeal and a giggle, and he shoves the electronic in her face. “Look at this, Betty! I knew you were gonna be dragged into this!” 

She grabs the phone from his grasp and reads: 

_“Archie Andrews, one half of the nation’s favorite fairytale duo, is allegedly dating someone other than his previous beau, Betty Cooper. For those who remember, the two pop stars dated briefly five years ago, and swept the whole world off their feet with their too-good-to-be-true whirlwind romance. They were a picture-perfect couple, but it only took a few months before the pair parted ways. However, both of them remained single through the years, so a lot of fans couldn’t help but hold out hope that someday the pop prince and princess may find their way back to each other again. This sudden twist of fate suggests that any possibility for a reunion is close to nil.”_

She doesn’t finish reading the article and shoves the cellphone back to Kevin. 

Betty can feel the start of a migraine, and she massages her temples in an attempt to preclude it from spreading. She doesn’t want to deal with more of this nonsense.  


Their food arrives by then, and Betty gives the waitress a polite smile, a force of habit. She’s always been a paragon of refinement and propriety, something that was drilled into her in her youth.

“But this is good though, isn’t it?” Kevin starts again once the waitress is out of earshot. “I mean, people will finally leave you out of this erstwhile make-believe romance. You’re a free woman now!” He touches his left chest in mock glee. 

Betty rolls her eyes in exasperation. “I’ve always been a free woman, Kev. And always will be.” _(Is she really though?)_ She doesn’t stop to entertain the thought further and focuses her mind on the food in front of her.

She’s starving.

.  
.  
.

Later, Betty spends the rest of the day in her apartment. She lives alone in a two-bedroom unit, in one of the nicer residential buildings in Beverly Hills. She does not exactly lead a lavish lifestyle, but Betty does indulge herself to a few luxuries afforded by her fat paycheck— her place of residence included. Her apartment overlooks the affluent city that serves as a home for most of the celebrities rolling in the same world as her. 

She changes into a pair of yoga pants and sports bra, endorphins already rising at the thought of exercising. She spends the next hour doing several poses, clearing her mind and calming her nerves in the process. (Yoga, she’s found, is one way to help her deal with her daily stress and her raging mind.) 

Betty flops on her couch after she’s satisfied with her exercise, and she starts browsing through her text messages. She has ten messages from her mother, (reminding Betty of various engagements with TV networks, product endorsements, the whole shebang), two messages from her personal assistant about her schedule the next day, one from Kevin asking her if she was safely home, and a message from a certain number that Betty has been hoping would contact her for the past few weeks. The message only says, _“Call me as soon as you can, Miss Cooper.”_

She doesn’t lose a second and dials the number. The person on the other end of the line answers after two rings.

“Hello, Miss Cooper. I have been waiting for your call.”

“Hi, um, sorry, I only just got to read your text. Any news for me?” 

“Yes, I do, in fact. I have found the person you asked me to find.”

Her heart starts picking up speed, and Betty thinks she can hear the drumming of the beats in her ear. She looks at her hand in time to see it tremble. 

“Did y—” her voice cracks, so she clears her throat before she tries again, “Did you? What do you have for me?” 

“I e-mailed you a copy of all the details I’ve gathered. I could understand the difficulty in locating the gentleman. He goes by a different name, but he’s not exactly hiding. He goes professionally by the name FP Jones III—”

“Hold on a minute. FP Jones III? Why, what does he do?” Betty asks through the receiver, her brows raising mildly. 

“He’s a professional photographer, Miss Cooper. In fact, I have detailed in the e-mail all his social media accounts, by which you can reach him. Good luck.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Betty feels a smile forming on her lips, warmth spreading in her chest, and something akin to pride snakes its way into her heart. _He did it._

When the line cuts, Betty fumbles for her laptop that’s stashed away on her coffee table. She opens the e-mail, and there she sees the face often visiting her in her slumbers, the face that often sneaks into her mind in her moments of idleness, the face that never fails to tug at her heart and cause her chest to tighten with a pang of sadness and regret. 

There it is, the familiar face on the picture, with a mop of messy, midnight black hair covering half his forehead, eyebrows drawn together, deep creases on his forehead, mouth slightly bent downward at the corners, and an ever-piercing ice-blue eyes staring back at her.

“Hey there, Romeo.” Betty Cooper whispers in the air, her lips curving into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops! What is happening?
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as @/coledemort for questions. Do watch out for the coming chapters! Also, do leave some love, they keep me going. :*


	2. Jughead Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @/beanie-betty and @/theatreofexpression for being wonderful people, and for beta-reading this chapter and making it a lot better!

Jughead wipes the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead on the sleeve of his flannel shirt before he strips it off and ties it around his waist. It is still early in the day, yet the sun is already boasting its shining glory. There is an obvious shortage of cool air to appease the rising temperature in his head. 

He drops to one knee, shoves his most prized camera in his face and starts taking multiple shots as a model poses a few feet away from him. He concentrates on capturing her in the right frame, but it proves to be a rather challenging feat as the model (her name escapes him, Jane? Joe? Josie?) keeps on getting distracted.

“Moose, will you please get me a towel? I think I might drown in my own sweat! Whose idea is it to shoot in this godforsaken desert?” the model whines at a towering man jogging towards her. Jughead remembers him from their introduction earlier. He’s the manager of the model who’s currently rumbling an indiscernible litany of complaints, her rage seemingly increasing the longer they stay under the heat of the unforgiving sun. 

The heat pricks at his skin. Jughead huffs a breath out to alleviate the irritation he is trying to curb while he watches the two bicker at something he can’t understand. The stale, dry air burns his lungs as he takes a deep breath. 

He scans his surroundings, and all he sees is a vast expanse of sand dunes. Heat waves dance in front of his eyes, and Jughead wishes he’d brought a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes. He squints to get a better view of the majesty that is Death Valley - an endless stretch of dry, parched land. Also, apparently a giant earthly oven. 

In another time, and under completely different circumstances, he might have enjoyed this.

From far away, he hears someone shout, “Let’s just take a break, guys! Y’all need to chill first!” 

_Fucking finally_ , he thinks.

He straightens up, and is about to turn back, when he catches the man called Moose in his peripheral vision. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry about this. Josie is just not used to doing photoshoots outdoors. Although—” Moose sighs before he adds, seemingly more to himself than to Jughead, “ — why did she even choose _Martian_ as the title of her album if she’s not willing to give her audience the proper visuals?” Jughead gives him a low grunt in response. 

“Anyway, can we just call you once she’s ready?” Moose asks, and Jughead just shrugs his approval. 

“Right. Sorry again.” Moose mutters sincerely before he turns on his heels and goes back to where the rest of his crew are gathered. 

Jughead trudges towards his van (a customized adventure van that serves as his home whenever he’s out in the wilderness for a shoot) that is parked a little farther from the rest of the model’s crew. He watches his boots get buried in the dry sand as he puts one foot after another, all the while contemplating why he agreed to do this project in the first place. 

He sighs and tugs on the beanie that’s propped atop his head, hoping it traps some of his body’s moisture, or whatever’s left of it. He knows he should shed the bloody hat in this scorching heat, but strangely, he always finds comfort in it - especially in situations where he has to deal with a lot of unfamiliar people (which admittedly, is odd, considering the profession he has chosen). 

A blast of cool air washes over him as he opens the door to his van, air conditioning clearly on full blast. He steps inside and momentarily revels at the sudden drop in temperature, before quickly closing the door, afraid that the heat outside will invade the tiny comfortable space he has created inside his mobile home. 

Jughead finds his two companions lounging inside. He stomps toward one of them - a petite woman, sitting cross-legged on one of the van’s convertible sofa beds, visibly preoccupied at something on the computer laid on her lap. 

“Toni, that model is a diva. Why on earth did you force me to do this shoot? You can do this yourself!” Jughead snaps as soon as he’s hovering over her.

Toni only chuckles, as if expecting his outburst. “Jones, first of all, I shoot in a studio. Second of all, their agency asked for the best adventure photographer I know. Hence,” she explains, mirth filtering through her voice as she waves one arm in his direction, like she’s telling him that he should be flattered by what she just said.

Jughead crosses his arms and exhales a sharp breath as he says, “I shoot nature, Toni, not people. This photoshoot is proving to be even more difficult than capturing a falling star on a cloudy night.” 

He hears the opening and closing of what he thinks is his refrigerator, and then a bottled water is being pushed in his grasp. He takes the bottle and gulps it down like his life depended on it. 

“Thanks, Sweet Pea,” Jughead mumbles, and turns his head in time to see Sweet Pea’s retreating back, already on his way to claim his prior place on the upper deck of the makeshift bunk beds. He stretches before closing his eyes, seemingly unperturbed by Jughead’s current predicament.

Sweet Pea - the second of his companions - a taciturn giant of a man, is Jughead’s best friend, sort of. They met several years ago while both of them were fresh out of internship and photography workshops. They kind of just tagged together due to their shared interest of shooting in the wilderness. 

“You owe me this one,” Jughead growls, pointing his index finger at Toni, then he walks the little distance to his refrigerator, intending to soothe the violent grumbling in his stomach. 

“I don’t think so, Jones. Don’t you have any idea who that is?” Toni asks, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jughead replies absently as he grabs two cold cheeseburgers, and sits on one of the stools in his mini kitchen. 

“Well, if you must know, that person you were shooting out there is the singer Josie McCoy, so I’m practically doing you a favor.” Toni elaborates in a tone that suggests that Jughead should be thanking her, so he throws her a confused look, making sure that his eyebrows are knitted well together to highlight his protest at the idea that he should be pleased by the prospect of doing a photoshoot with some singer that he has no knowledge about. 

“Excuse me, Toni. But as far as I’m concerned, I don’t give a damn about Joline McCoy, or whoever the hell she is.” 

Toni rolls her eyes, puts down her laptop beside her, and says, “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But don’t you see, Jones? I am bringing you closer to the woman of your dreams.” 

Jughead’s brows furrow even deeper. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He catches how Toni glances at Sweet Pea, who Jughead is certain is now pretending to be asleep. 

“Who else? Pop star princess, woman of your dreams! _Betty Cooper!_ ” Toni states casually as she straightens up, stretching her legs.

Jughead stops mid-bite of his cheeseburger, feeling his stomach drop to the floor. He isn’t sure if he heard Toni right, so he asks in a regulated voice, “What did you just say?” 

“Oh, come on, Jughead. Don’t you think we haven’t noticed? You’re obsessed with that singer! You punched a guy for saying she has a nice rack—” Toni raises a hand when Jughead opens his mouth, and adds, “— which is true, by the way. But my point is, that’s not a regular fanboy reaction.” 

He feels a rush of blood to his face, and Jughead goes into a coughing fit in an attempt to hide his face. He breaks into a cold sweat, in spite of the artificial cold enveloping the entire van. A familiar invisible hand clenches at his chest, and then his breathing shallows.

He waits a couple of moments to rearrange his face, hoping that his outward appearance does not betray the slicing he feels somewhere approximately near his heart.

“Toni, do me a favor and mind your own damn business,” Jughead says after a while, edge palpable in his voice. 

“Okay,” Toni says, raising her hands in the air. “I’m just saying… this could be a potential step-up for you. It has been a pain watching you watch her from afar for _years_ , Jones. Years!” Toni grabs a can of soda and sits on one of the stools across him. 

Jughead casts her a deathly glare. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I am talking about your fixation with the poor girl. You follow her every activity. You go to her concerts secretly. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that - ” she pauses to take a gulp from her drink before she continues, “ -but you refuse to take a step further. I remember that one time I gave you a free pass to an album signing but you refused! It’s almost like you always seek her, but when she’s close enough, you back away. It baffles me, but I think it’s just you being typically you.” 

Jughead averts his eyes and mumbles mostly to himself, “Girls like Betty Cooper don’t go for guys like me.” 

_I will not allow you to ruin my daughter’s life, Jug-Head. You can’t keep holding her back. This isn’t middle school anymore. Betty will become a star, and you...will still be you._

The quiet disgust in Alice Cooper’s voice rings inside Jughead’s head. It’s the same voice that plays in his head over and over through the years. He’s heard it so many times that he thought the pain it brought would dull in time. But right now, a couple of miles and five years away, it still stings him as hard as the first time. 

“Who said about people picking people?” Toni quips, bringing Jughead’s attention to her. “What I’m just saying is - this could be an upgrade for you, Jones. From being an unknown fan to someone who works with her professionally. You can creep closer in her orbit officially.”

 _What a joke_ , he thinks. Except, he’s not laughing. 

“I’m warning you, Toni. Get off my back and never ever try to meddle in my life again,” he says bitterly. He shifts his eyes to the sleeping form of Sweet Pea and adds, “You too, SP. I know you were in on this!” 

“Whatever, man. I was just concerned about how pathetic you looked,” Sweet Pea drawls in response, before covering his head with a pillow, effectively dismissing whatever barrage of defensive words Jughead has in mind. 

“When opportunity knocks on your door, Jones, you open the door wide. You never know where it might take you.” 

Jughead pushes the remainder of his food in front of him, feeling his appetite leave. Toni gives him a curious look and says, “You ain’t finishing that?” 

“I’m not hungry anymore. I need a minute out of here.” 

Toni sighs, rolls her eyes at him, and shoves a shiny card at him. “Before you go, Donnie Darko. I managed to get the calling card of Betty Cooper’s agent. I have no use for it, but if you want…” Toni lets her voice trail, apparently waiting for Jughead to take it.

Seconds tick by, and Jughead just stares at the card, making no move to take it, so Toni shrugs and walks to the trash bin.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Give me that card, Toni!” Jughead barks. 

Toni walks back, a smirk plastered on her face. “Happy to help, J.” 

Jughead doesn’t reply; he hears Sweet Pea’s muffled snicker, and then he turns towards the door of the van. 

His day is not turning out the way he expected it to. 

.  
.  
.

Later, Jughead flops onto his bed, drained from the day’s activity. The photoshoot lasted longer than they initially planned. They had to change venues because the extreme heat in Death Valley proved to be unfavorable for prolonged shoots.

He stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, too tired to think of anything in particular. But the weight of the card he acquired earlier from Toni burns a hole in his pocket. It’s been nagging at him the whole day. He had the photoshoot to distract him earlier, but now, alone in the quiet of his room, he has nowhere else to run to. 

He digs in his pocket and takes out the calling card. He’s never been weighed down so heavily by a piece of paper before. He sighs and places it on his bedside drawer, not wanting to face it yet. 

He gets up and stretches his limbs. He pads to his bathroom, itching to drain away the day’s sweat and grime; and more importantly, to clear his head. 

After a shower, Jughead sprawls on his bed, listening to the soft whirring of the room’s air conditioner. The nagging feeling is still swirling in his stomach, and the more he tries to ignore it, the heavier it gets. He squeezes the heels of his palms to his eyes, before bolting up, with an exasperated groan. 

He walks out of his room and goes straight to the small kitchen. His apartment is comfortable but not extravagant. He likes to call it, “the basic bachelor’s lair”. His kitchen’s sole purpose is for food storage, since Jughead mostly lives on takeouts and non-perishable goods. He could not cook if his life depended on it, which is quite the irony, because Jughead is always hungry. 

His kitchen gives way immediately to his lounge, adorned with nothing but a comfortable looking sofa and a coffee table facing his flat screen television. Through the years of his freelance photography stint and occasional contributions to _National Geographic_ , he’s managed to save enough to live a lucrative lifestyle, but Jughead has lived most of his early life scraping by and he can’t find it in him to splurge unnecessarily. 

Grabbing whatever leftover food he can find in his fridge, he sits on his couch and flips through the television channels for a while before finally relinquishing to the nagging feeling that has never left him. He opens his laptop and stares at a protected folder for a few beats before visiting it again for the first time in months. 

.  
.  
.

He scans through his old photographs, ones that were taken on his old beat-up camera; some a little bit grainy, others blurry on the edges, but these are the photographs that Jughead wouldn’t exchange for the world. 

The photos feature him as a child; skinny, wild-eyed, with a mop of unruly hair tucked in a tacky crown-shaped beanie, dressed in flannels that are way too large for his size. In every picture, there is someone beside him: a pretty little girl, immaculately dressed, blonde hair tightly bound in a ponytail, bright-eyed, and always the most beautiful part of each photograph. 

Childhood photos give way to older versions of them, and then further, the photographs feature the blonde girl in the most mundane activities: riding a bicycle, sunbathing on the bank of a river, hanging homecoming decorations, eating on a lunch table, buying groceries, blowing birthday candles, laughing with her head thrown back… 

Jughead stops when he feels a large, sharp cut through his heart, and his breathing hitches. The familiar feeling never changes, and he wonders if it ever will. 

Sometimes, Jughead finds it hard to believe that the snapshots were real once upon a time. That somewhere in the continuum of time, his life was tied together with the life of the most beautiful and most incredible person he’s ever known to exist. 

He finds it hard to believe that there existed a world where he knew Betty Cooper all too well, and she, in turn knew him all too well. It’s like a different lifetime altogether, but a life nonetheless. 

He closes his eyes, taking deep calming breaths, and allows himself to travel back in time.

*****

Jughead was 11. Early in the morning, he saw his mom lug two large trunks with his little sister Jellybean at her heels. Just when she was about to step through the door, he asked her where they were going, and with a broken voice, she said _to Toledo for a while_ as she shoved a few dollar bills into his hand. He wanted to ask when they were coming back, but a loud crash pierced through the air and Jughead jolted, causing him to avert his attention from his mother. When he turned to her again, they were already out the door; not once did she glance back at him, no matter how loud he called after her. His dad stumbled toward where he was standing, and slurred something like, “They ain’t coming back, boy.” And without another word, he swayed through the door, leaving Jughead all by himself, backpack slung on his shoulder, and a few crumpled bills tucked in his hand. 

In the lonely hours of the afternoon when the sun was low in the horizon, casting cinematic shadows through the blinders of the trailer he used to call home, Jughead sat alone. He didn’t know how long he stared at the changing length of his own shadow, when he felt a violent grumbling in his stomach, and only then did he realize that he hadn’t eaten for the day. He stood up and fished for food in their cupboards, found a moldy slice of bread, and then he heard a knock on the door.

He dropped the bread, and all but jumped for the door. He found Betty Cooper standing outside, school bag slung on her shoulders, and a curious look on her face.

“Why didn’t you come to school, Juggie? Did you catch a stomach bug?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. 

He was about to answer yes, when she stepped into the trailer, and found the mess that was left there since morning. 

“What happened here?”

“They’re gone, Betty. They’re all gone.” Before Jughead could stop himself, tears escaped to his cheeks; and like a broken dam, the water in his eyes didn’t let up no matter how much he told himself to stop crying. 

Betty stood on her tiptoes and wrapped him in her embrace, telling him how _it’s going to be okay, Juggie. I’m here, you’re not alone. It’s going to be okay. Have you eaten?_

Jughead was 15. One cold autumn afternoon just after the leaves began to change colors, and the knitted sweaters became fashionable again, Jughead stood at the foot of a ladder perched on a giant window of an all-American home in the more affluent neighborhood of their town. He began climbing the ladder deftly and surreptitiously, the way he had done it a thousand times in the past. He knocked on the window when he reached the top, but no answer came. He furrowed his brows, and began pushing up the window by himself. 

He found Betty sitting on her bed with a glassy look on her face, hands fisted so tight he was sure she was breaking skin. Her nose was shiny and her eyes were bloodshot, but she was not crying. There was a huge patch of red on one side of her face, and Jughead knew. 

“Betty,” he called, but it seemed like she didn’t hear him.

“Betty,” he called again, but still, nothing. 

He was beginning to panic, and when she failed to respond the third time, he shook her shoulders with a force enough to call her back from wherever she retreated to.

“J-Jug?” she murmurs, sounding a bit far-off.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He knew she wasn’t, but still he asked, because he didn’t know what to say otherwise. 

She turned to him with a stony face, chin jutted out, and with a burning determination, she said, “Jughead, what if we just go?” 

*****

A soft _ding_ coming from his phone brings Jughead back to the present. He sits upright, blinking twice, feeling time catch up to him. 

A notification tells him that he’s got one incoming e-mail. He swipes distractedly and sees that a certain Ethel Muggs has sent him an e-mail. Ethel Muggs? _Where did he see that name again?_

He racks his brain for a while and then it clicks. He dashes to his bedroom to retrieve the calling card, and reads: 

ETHEL MUGGS  
Representative for Betty Cooper  
RD Management

He reads it again, just to make sure, and glances back at his phone. It’s the same name, and for a beat, he wonders what Betty Cooper’s agent wants from him. 

After spending a few good minutes debating with himself, he finally opens the email. Curiosity always gets the better of him, and then he finds himself hyperventilating at what he reads. The email is no different from every other formal letter he has received requesting for a shoot, but there is a line in the letter that sets it apart from the rest: 

“Betty Cooper is keen on working with you, and should you be interested, kindly respond to this email so I can arrange a meeting with Ms. Cooper, or call us in your most convenient time. Thank you.” 

Jughead drops on his bed, still in the process of convincing himself of what’s happening. He has a distinct feeling that some sort of stars have rearranged themselves, causing his little world to be aligned with Betty Cooper’s, and he doesn’t exactly know if he’s equipped enough for that. 

With trembling fingers, he presses frantically on his phone, making multiple typographical errors, before he can come up with an articulate translation of what he really wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspo songs for the flashbacks were Waves (Dean Lewis) and Silence (Marshmello, Khalid). I associate the songs so much with Jughead. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read chapter 1; those who left comments, and kudos; and to those who liked and reblogged my post on Tumblr (@/coledemort). Your support means SO much to me! Do continue reading. I know I am very slow in the updates, but please bear with me!
> 
> Lastly, do tell me what you think! :)


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